Ronan glared down at the unconscious man, his sword burning in his grip, aching for him to stir. At his side, Kara’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Ronan, what the hell was that for? I was going to—”

“I couldnae bear ye being in this room with another man,” he growled. “Come with me. I’m going tae act like yer my wayward mistress and I’m jealous—which I’ll not have tae feign.”

Though Ronan and his men were supposed to wait outside the tavern, his fear for Kara had grown so great he’d ignored the protests of his men to stalk into the tavern. He’d come close to charging the bastard Kara flirted with when he’d tried to kiss her, and when she’d led him upstairs Luag had to restrain Ronan from racing after them. He trusted Kara and knew she only wanted to get information, but the lass didn't know just how desirable she was. He'd barely contained himself when she turned her charms on him.

Ronan’s fists tightened as he continued to glare down at the man; the bastard was fortunate he hadn’t done more damage.

“Did he kiss ye again? Touch ye in any way?”

“No,” Kara snapped, and his jealousy calmed—somewhat. “I was handling this, Ronan. He was giving me information. Useful information. You told me you trusted me to— “

“It’s him I donnae trust,” he snapped. “Now come.”

He marched with her out of the room and down the stairs, Kara glowering at him as they went. The other patrons watched with amusement—he wondered if scenes like this were common occurrences at the tavern.

As they rode back to his manor, Ronan made himself steady his breathing. He’d never felt such jealousy before; while he’d agreed to Kara’s plan, he’d underestimated the force of his jealousy.

He slid a sideways glance at her; she gripped the reins of her horse, a scowl darkening her features, looking gorgeous as sin in her blue gown. He was going to have Aislin burn it when they returned to the manor.

He dismissed his men as soon as they arrived at the manor, informing them he’d meet with them at the castle at first light to go over what he’d learned from Kara.

“You owe me an apology,” Kara snapped, when they entered his chamber. “For not trusting me to handle myself back there. Once you hear what I’ve learned, you’re going to kick yourself. It’s information we can use.”

“Kick myself?” He frowned at the strange phrase. “Why would I do that?”

“It’s a common phrase we use in my time. It means you’re going to regret what you did,” she snapped.

“I thought I could handle my jealousy, but I couldnae. Ye’re mine. How would ye have felt if I had to seduce a lass for information?”

Kara’s scowl deepened, a murderous glint in her eyes.

“So ye see how I felt,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement. “Now, I hope ye have learned something of importance, because I willnae let ye do something like that again.”

“He said the attacks on your clan are all a farce,” Kara said.

Ronan froze as she told him that the threats—the fires, the ill omens—were all a distraction while Tarag and his clan claimed their lands in the north.

Ronan closed his eyes, understanding now why she was so angry with him. She'd learned information that changed everything.

“I thank ye, Kara,” he said, reaching out to grip her hand. “And ye have my apologies. I acted like a jealous fool. I donnae ken we’d have found that out on our own—at least not until it was too late.”

“Apology accepted,” Kara said with a conciliatory smile as she squeezed his hand. “And thank you for going through with my plan, even though I know it was hard for you.” She studied his face, worry infusing her expression. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve a plan of my own.”

* * *

Ronan slept little that night, getting out of bed to pace the dark halls as Kara slept. He would send for Eadan at first light; his plan involved many men of their clan, and not just clan nobles. By the time his message reached Eadan, he’d already have carried out his plan. It would end with their lands safe and Ronan alive, or it would end with their lands lost and Ronan dead.

He paused outside the door to his chamber, looking in at Kara. She slept on her back, her golden hair spread around her like a halo, the moonlight filtering in through the window illuminating her lovely features.

He’d told her the details of his plan, but he’d left out one thing. His desire for her to go to Tairseach and return to her own time. He knew Kara would push back—she still hadn’t found her family. But he believed her grandmother would want her safety above all else.

An ache pained him at the thought of losing her—through his death or by the expanse of time. He recalled his uncle’s words. Ye’ve met the lass who's changed everything for ye.

Ronan couldn’t deny his uncle’s words. She had changed everything for him. He no longer feared the responsibility of a family, a bride—as long as the bride was Kara. And if there was no danger, and she was from his time, he’d have no hesitation in asking her to be his bride. To live out her days at his side, as his lady, to make his cold empty manor into a home with her bright, shining presence. She'd embedded herself in his heart, in every part of him.

But that was why he’d let her go. He loved her enough to prioritize her safety from Tarag and his clan, to send her back to the time where she belonged, even though his life would be empty without her. Even though he loved her.

“I love ye, my time-traveling witch. My goddess,” he whispered to her sleeping form when he slipped back into bed, curling his body around her.

He'd just fallen asleep when a sharp knock sounded at the door. It was barely first light; the light outside the windows still dim.

Ronan sat up, his body heavy with fatigue as he padded to the door, swinging it open. Beathan stood there, beaming.

“Eadan has returned,” Beathan said. “He’s in yer drawing room.”

* * *

Moments later, Ronan stood opposite Eadan, while Kara sat in a chair in the corner.

He’d told Eadan everything—the threats, Elspeth’s defection, the meeting with Tarag, and Kara’s recent discovery that it was all a distraction to seize their lands. Kara had told him of the latter, describing her encounter with Tarag’s man at the tavern, and Eadan had stiffened in surprise at her accent. But Ronan told him with his eyes an explanation for that would have to wait—there were more urgent matters to handle.

Now, he waited tensely for Eadan to scold him, to tell him he should have sent for him sooner, that he’d take over from here.

“This plan of yers,” Eadan said. “What is it?”

Ronan blinked with astonishment. His cousin didn’t look angry. Instead, a glint of admiration shone in his eyes.

“I’ll call a meeting with the nobles; we need tae send as many men north as we can to launch an attack on Tarag and his men. I’m estimating it’ll take us a day—perhaps two—tae get enough men for that. While most of us march north, we need tae keep enough men here tae protect the castle and surrounding lands in case his men retaliate.”

Eadan gave him a slow nod, looking pleased.

“’Tis a sound plan. Ye handled this well, Ronan. Moireach told me what a fine job ye've done with the castle matters as well.”

Ronan looked at him, astonishment rendering him still. Eadan chuckled.

"Moireach has a stern manner, but he likes ye. He says he's seen the change in ye over these past few weeks, and ye've taken the responsibility well."

Relief and pride filtered in through the ever-present cloud of self-doubt and uncertainty that had plagued him ever since Eadan left him in charge. He tentatively returned his cousin’s smile.

Eadan turned his focus to Kara, approaching her as she stood. He bowed in greeting, his curious gaze pinned on her face.

“Ye have the same accent as my wife,” he said cautiously.

“I’ve heard,” Kara said, sliding a glance to Ronan.

“May I ask where ye’re from?” Eadan asked.

Kara looked at Ronan, and he gave her a small nod.

“I suspect I’m from the same place as your bride,” Kara said. “Or rather, I should say . . . the same time.”